A Professional Relationship
by jenova-amaranth
Summary: She came to him seeking a professional partnership. He granted her one. After all, the likes of Balthier do not fall in love. BalthierXFran.
1. The Beginning

_**A/N:** My first FFXII fanfic. All feedback welcome, although if it's criticism please try to be as constructive as possible... and to my knowledge, Viera don't turn into trees._

_All recognisable characters and locations throughout this story (including Fran and Balthier) are property of Square Enix and I do not claim them as my own in any way._

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**1. The Beginning**

_The Skycity of Bhujerba_

Admittedly, the tavern Balthier had chosen was not what could be described as pleasant. _Hardly fit for a leading man,_ he'd decided on entering. But he could not be seen in The Cloudborne. No; there was a hefty sum on his head right now. This back-end dump would have to do, even though the stench of rotting wood permeating his nostrils made him feel somewhat nauseous.

"_Svagatam_," the barkeep announced as he took a seat. The sky-pirate eyed him suspiciously; he smelled as if he'd been needing a bath for the past few years. "What can I get for you, _Bhadra_?"

"_Madhu_ will do me just fine," he answered. This place made him nervous. He was used to seedy bars like this; he'd been using them for the past few years since he fled from Archades. But this particular tavern definitely had an unpleasant feel about it. He glanced around. The mechanic he'd exchanged letters with should be here by now. He knew very little about her, other than she was a Viera and, according to her description, "very professional". _We'll see about that_, he thought. He'd come across many Viera in his life-time, each more intelligent, beautiful and unbelievably proud than the last. All of them were skilled in the art of weaponry, but their mechanical skills left much to be desired.

"_Madhu_ for _Bhadra_." The Madhu appeared in front of Balthier.

"I know I play the leading man, but all this _Bhadra_ nonsense really is unnecessary," he replied, taking a suspicious sniff of the Madhu. "Say, you haven't seen any Viera around have you? I'm supposed to be meeting one."

"Here in Bhujerba? Oh no, there are very few Viera around here, _Bhadra_," the barkeep explained, clearly ignoring what the sky-pirate had just said. "I will keep an eye out for one. What does she look like?"

"Well I presume she looks like a Viera," Balthier replied scathingly, despising the denseness of the Seeq. "I assume even those who have never strolled beneath the skyline know the striking characteristics of a Viera. But if not then no matter. I shall keep a look out for this one myself."

"The Viera are the ones with the ears, aren't they?" The barkeep asked. "The ones who live in woods and turn into trees during the night, that's the Viera, right?"

"Apparently so," Balthier sighed, wondering to himself who had come up with the notion that Viera turn into trees at night, "Although this one had better not be morphing into any sort of plant every time the sun sets. It would be highly inconvenient."

"I've heard they're beautiful," The Seeq breathed.

"Oh, they are," the sky-pirate said casually, "Beautiful, elegant and incredibly stuck-up. Most do not like to venture beyond their woods, so I've been told. The few I've met in the past were all fresh from their homes, though. This one I'm supposed to be meeting today has apparently been walking amongst the rest of us for quite a while." He raised the _Madhu_ to his lips and sipped cautiously. When he didn't feel any malevolent side-effects, he took a large gulp. "This is just what I needed," he decided aloud, "A good drink and some company. It gets lonely being…" he paused very briefly, knowing he could not mention his profession to even this bartender, "Archadian. It would appear the rest of the world is not fond of our kind, even here in Bhujerba."

He looked up at the barkeep, expecting him to reply. But his eyes were fixed on the door. Frowning, Balthier glanced around. Then he took another swig of Madhu to stop him from staring.

Just as the rule seemed to go, she was more beautiful than all the other Viera he'd seen. Like most of her kind, her clothing could be described as provocative, her low-cut bodice and the black armour covering her long, slender legs barely hiding half her dark olive skin. She had the token silver hair and ruby-red eyes that every Veena Viera carried, and yet there was something… _different_… about her stride…

"I dare say this is the darling Viera I've been waiting for," Balthier announced, maintaining his composure. He had seen many girls in less clothes than this in his time, yet still the sight of her threw him off. "You must be Fran."

"And you Balthier," she stated simply. She did not sound like a Viera, yet she did not sound human either. It was as if she was half way between the two, having lost some of her Viera dialect yet not picking up a human one either.

"That I am," he answered, "I believe we have business to discuss."

"Such rarity it is to find one of your heritage in such a profession," she commented, arms folded. "And one so young with such a price upon his head."

Balthier smirked. "Done your homework, have you?" He took another swig of _Madhu_. "Let us discuss these matters away from curious ears, shall we?"

Without waiting for a reply he stood up and marched over to a table in the far corner of the room.

"You say you've worked with sky pirates before," He commented, pulling the letters from his bronze vest. "What I'd like to know is why you call yourself a professional when you jump from one to the next with ease, never staying around for too long. Just what exactly is your profession?"

The scowl she gave him was petrifying. Viera were not known for filling their eyes with emotion, but at that moment this one's were overflowing with fury.

"I did not come here to waste my time, _Hume_," she snarled, "Do not imply I am more body than mind when my wisdom stretches back beyond your days."

"Equally, I am not here to waste my time discussing serious business with someone no more than a mere harlot," Balthier replied as casually as he could under that terrifying gaze. "No matter, now that we've got that one out of the way, I would like to know, seriously, what your credentials are."

Her expression softened back to the icy detachedness the Viera normally present. "I have worked on the mechanics of airships," she explained, "Skilled I am too in archery. Many times have I hunted marks. You will find there is more to me than meets your human eye."

"I assume you have intelligence and wit about you too, seeing as you were able to track me down," he commented, "How exactly _did_ you track me down?"

She merely smiled. "The earth around may no longer speak to me, but I have not lost all my senses," she answered softly.

"Then you'll have to tell me how to mask my scent," he said. "It is not right for the leading man to smell, after all."

"I will help you, in return for a professional partnership," she offered, leaning forwards so he could almost feel the sweetness of her breath, as her bright eyes pierced his own. "You desire my aid; I yearn for your lifestyle. Would you not agree it is a fair deal?"

Balthier eyed her, leaning back. "Something tells me you doubt my sincerity. Tell me, are you suspicious of my intentions?"

"What fool trusts a sky pirate?" She asked scathingly.

He raised a sandy-brown eyebrow. "You and I both know the reasoning behind my question."

For a moment she held his gaze. But then she averted her eyes to her right with a sigh.

"So shallow-minded have my past comrades been," she answered heavily, "They see no more than a useless doll, to be played with and tossed aside, not of serious or professional nature." She raised her eyes back to Balthier's. "For this reason, I have stayed not long with my other partners."

Silence settled between the two as they spoke with their eyes. His were intrigued; hers were determined. Finally, he spoke.

"Bhujerba Aerodrome, dock seven, an hour after the moon rises," he said. "Be there."

"I will." With that, she rose. Balthier could not help but watch her as she stalked out of the tavern, head held high, not meeting the stares of any of the men that gawped at her, stunned. At that moment, he admired her. How he too had judged her the moment he'd seen her, but now… now he realised how little she enjoyed the attention, how he had mistook dignity for pride, and it was all she had in this world where those around her assumed she was, in his own words, "a mere harlot".

_Don't you worry, Fran,_ he thought to himself, _you're in good hands with me_.

He smirked as he picked up his tankard. _After all, this is a purely professional relationship, and the likes of me do not fall in love._

With that, he took another swig of _Madhu_ to slow his heart.


	2. Professional Partnership

**A/N:** I'd like to thank everyone who has read this so far and special thanks to those who have sent me messages. I greatly appreciate them. I would also be extremely grateful any sort of feedback, be it constructive criticism or otherwise, so please do review :)

Also, I have a busy week ahead and just today I've come down with a rather horrific fever (along with other flu symptoms), so I may update a little late next week.

Hope you enjoy, and remember to give me feedback!

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**2. Professional Partnership**

_Aboard the Strahl_

She watched him from the doorway, a safe distance, his back turned to her. Once again he was working hard on a plan to add to his collection of riches. _Curious_, she thought, _how for wealth he yearns, yet not power._ She listened to the sound of his breaths and could tell from their slow, lazy speed yet harsh texture that he was tired. The past month spent with him had taught her to recognise his waking state from various physical signs.

"You grow weary, Balthier," she stated calmly, approaching him slowly. "You should take rest shortly. The night calls for you."

The sky pirate smiled sleepily. "But Fran, this plan of mine has scarcely begun to unfold. Surely you're not going to send me to bed just yet?"

"_Send _you? I am not your mother," She retorted.

"I never said you were," he answered, a drowsy tone to his voice, "Would you like to assist me in drawing up my magnificent plan?"

She was taken aback. "Assist you?"

"Help me work out all the tactics and the maths involved," he explained briefly. "It gets incredibly tedious doing it all by myself. I much prefer the excitement of the action."

Fran hesitated. Never before had Balthier invited her to help with his planning. She was merely his mechanic and his navigator.

"Don't give me that look," he scoffed, "If this is indeed a professional partnership then you should play a bigger part than my maidservant."

She tilted her head to the right ever so slightly. "Mean you to treat me as an equal?"

He turned his hazel eyes to meet her crimson ones. "I thought by now you would've realised I hired you for your experience and your skills, not your species," he replied. "But if you would prefer slavery to my company then I beg to question why you are still here."

He held her gaze for a few long seconds, his eyes searching for something. But she did not give anything away. He did not need to know that she was astounded by his kindness; his willingness to treat her as an accomplice… he did not need to know how others of his kind had left marks beneath her flawless skin.

She sat down beside him.

"Where does our course take us?" She asked.

"A supply ship is heading across the Dalmasca Westersand tomorrow evening, under the cover of darkness in hope to avoid detection from Archadian airships," he began, "It's supposed to be picking up some fresh supplies of potion ingredients from the Ogrir-Yensa Sandsea and will be paying the suppliers handsomely. Unfortunately for them, I've heard word that an Archadian airship is going to crossing their path and will put a stop to this, most likely taking the riches for themselves. What _I_ plan to do is to intercept the Archadian airship…"

*

Over an hour later it was almost finished. A few numbers were missing from the diagram of their plan, but it was more or less complete. She watched him as he talked, trying to figure out the missing digits. She placed a clawed hand tenderly on his shoulder.

"Balthier, exhaustion is clouding your mind," she told him softly, "You need your rest now."

"Don't be silly, Fran, we've just-" He was cut off by a yawn. "Got a bit more to do…"

"Your drowsiness obscures your judgement," she explained, "Should it cause you to make errors, our chances of success tomorrow are poor."

The sky-pirate opened his mouth to argue with his accomplice, but his words morphed into a yawn before they could even take form.

"Oh alright," he grumbled bitterly, "You know I'm beginning to wonder if maidservant suited you better." Catching her eye he chuckled slightly. "Ever so touching that you've taken it upon yourself to look out for my health."

She watched him curiously. There was something about the sky pirate that intrigued her. There were _many_ things about him that intrigued her. Why an Archadian child? Archadia was a land of riches, and his dialect showed he had no need to go to such extremes to achieve such wealth. He had not lost his home life to the ongoing war; he'd told her he'd been doing this since before the war. She averted her eyes from his face.

"Someone has to," she pointed out. She stood up and removed her hand from his shoulder. "I assume you do not need me to escort you to your bed."

There was something dancing in Balthier's weary eyes, but his tongue did not reveal the secret behind them.

"Very well. We'll meet here tomorrow to complete our work of art."

Fran glanced down at their sketches. While some of it involved precision and accurate diagrams, most of it consisted of stick figures and vague shapes…hardly a work of art. A smile played upon her lips.

"Until the morn, Balthier."

Without waiting for a reply, the Viera headed for her own bed. Only after she had left the room did Balthier mutter his answer.

"Until tomorrow, Fran."

He too arose and left the room.

*

_You, Balthier, are a fool_.

He watched the ceiling of the Strahl, not really focusing on anything in particular. His mind was elsewhere.

_She specifically told you she was only interested in a professional relationship, and you knew her beauty and her intelligence was a deadly combination, yet you decided to take her on anyway._

"Actually, I took her on for her professionalism," he announced aloud, "For her experience in the industry and her determination. She deserved a fair shot."

_You knew you'd fall in love with her._

"I'd hardly say it's love," he muttered, "Rather she tickles my fancy. But I can put that aside. We are professionals after all."

_You're as mad as your father._

He said no more. Inside he seethed.

_Only you, my dear mind, could ruin my fantasies by mentioning my wretched father._

_Someone had to remove your head from the clouds._

He rolled over and slammed a fist against the bed. _I prefer my head in the clouds! That's why I've taken to the sky!_

_Coward._

This time Balthier did not argue. There was no argument. The voice inside his head was right; he was a coward and he knew it.

_You won't sleep tonight,_ it whispered mockingly.

_Thanks._

And with that, he returned to gazing at the ceiling, his mind elsewhere.

*

"Balthier?"

Slowly he drifted into conscience. He did not immediately open his eyes, taking a moment to adjust to reality once more.

"I am sorry to have woken you," the voice continued, so beautifully strange in tone, "Morn has come. We have work to finish."

"Fran?" He mumbled, not opening his eyes.

"In the control room I will wait," came the reply, "I shall make your breakfast."

"No need, you're not my chef," he grumbled, rolling over, "Get Nono to do it."

"I can cook better than Nono," she answered as coldly as usual, "Hurry though, we should soon finish our planning."

"I'll be there in a minute."

He waited until he heard the door click shut before opening his eyes and sitting up. It was only at that moment he realised he'd kicked the bed sheets off himself in his sleep, leaving them on the floor and his half-naked body on show. He chuckled slightly.

"How incredibly smooth of you, Balthier," he commented to himself quietly. Deciding there was no need to get dressed up in his usual finery just yet, he reached for some jogging bottoms and pulled them over his legs before heading to the control room to meet with Fran.


	3. Ocean Song

_**A/N:**__ Very excited that I got some reviews! Thanks for that :)_

_I enjoyed writing this chapter. In terms of standard it could probably be better and I may make alterations at a later date, but I still liked writing it. Hope you enjoy it too. As always, praise and constructive criticism are welcome._

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**3. Ocean Song**

_3 months later, the Phon Coast_

She sat alone on the shore, watching the waves lap the sand tenderly, lovingly. Once again the pair had succeeded in plundering a supply ship and Balthier was busy counting their riches. Usually she'd join in, but tonight, for some reason, she felt the need to get out.

She listened to the sea, but she could not hear its words. This did not phase her, as she was not born of the ocean. But she could not hear the song of the earth either. For nearly fifty years this had barely plagued her. Tonight, however, was different. Tonight she remembered.

It did not make sense to her why tonight she should remember all she had left behind, and it was beyond her why now she mourned it, yet as she watched the sea stroke the shore it reminded her of the relationship with the Viera and the wood, the way one was so gentle and calming while the other remained harmless yet unmoving. They belonged with each other.

A part of her wanted to add her salty tears to the sea, but she knew she couldn't. She had come too far to cry. She had seen so much in all her years, and had spent more than half her life outside the wood… away from her home and her family. She could not break now. She was free. Wasn't this life better than one of stubborn, sheltered pride?

"Enjoying the scenery, are we?"

At first, she did not turn around to look at Balthier, but as he drew up beside her she turned her head to face him. She quickly adjusted herself so he could not see the sadness in her eyes.

"The salt air does make me feel most alive," she answered. It was not a lie; the strong stench of salt most certainly aroused her senses, although in a harsh way. So far from the soft aromas of the wood…

"I should imagine it does," he commented, "Quite a smell. I would've thought it displeases the Viera."

_He's smarter than he lets on,_ she thought.

"Sometimes the senses need awakening," she replied vaguely.

"And I always thought your senses were sharp enough," he said, shaking his head, "You Viera are most mysterious creatures, you know that?"

She did not reply. The quip about her senses only reminded her how she could no longer hear the green word. Her senses were still sharper than that of a hume, but they were not as sharp as they should be. She felt impure. Dirty. Contaminated.

Noticing her lack of words, he sat down beside her on the silver-white sand and also stared out across the waters.

"Something troubling you?" He asked, so gently you'd think he was afraid the words would hurt her.

For a while, she still did not give him an answer. Finally she whispered in a barely audible voice, "It is nothing."

"Everything is something," Balthier challenged. "And if it provokes such a change in you that a Hume can perceive, this 'nothing' you speak of is indisputably a particularly bothersome something."

She wished for a moment that it really was so easy for him to read her. She had always been fond of the way Humes did not have to speak their woes, for their eyes would sing the story. A part of her wanted to turn to look at him to see what danced behind his own hazel eyes, but a part of her was afraid. She did not like to be read, even by one she had grown to trust. Was she ready to tell him?

"I… wish not to speak of it," she finally answered.

Silence followed her words. The two remained on the sand, watching the ocean soothe the realm with its tuneless, rhythmic lullaby. She closed her eyes and listened to its song, even though she could hear neither its lyrics nor melody. She knew it was sympathetic. She was half-tempted to remove her heels and stride out into the shallows, allowing the calm waters to caress her skin and relieve her homesick heart… but she could not.

She sensed him standing up and wandering a little way down the shoreline before coming to a halt and speaking again.

"It's a pleasant night," he commented, "I wouldn't mind taking a swim right now; the sea is calm enough."

"Indeed," was all she said in reply, opening her eyes again and staring across the ocean.

"The skies are quiet too," he continued, "I do love sleeping aboard the Strahl when the nights are as peaceful as this. It harbours a safe atmosphere."

"A child to his crib," she stated blankly.

"Well that's certainly one way to put it," he said.

Again a silence descended upon them. The Viera fell back onto the sand and stared up at the velvety dark of the night sky.

"For many years did I rest beneath the stars," she sighed, "So that way it would remain, I believed, until with piracy I meddled."

Balthier glanced at her, although she did not meet his gaze. She continued to stare into the sky, watching the constellations, bright and clear against the black night.

"Though I value the warmth of sky ships… I welcome the night skies."

She knew he was waiting for more. She knew he wanted to hear tales of her days in the wild, listen to her stories and develop an understanding of her. But she remained silent. Eventually she felt him flop back onto the sand beside her.

"The sky really is full of wonders," he said, "Although it is a prison such beauties as the stars cannot escape from, it has provided me with all the freedom I need; the freedom to fly wherever my desires take me. It is truly the high life, would you not agree?"

There was another pause before she answered him.

"I too cherish my freedom," she explained.

They were silent once more, both staring into the heavens, merely enjoying the song of the waves and each other's company.

"You are clever with your words," Balthier finally said, speaking more slowly than normal, "You may think that I'm slow on the uptake, but I've noticed you do not always answer my questions directly."

She turned her head to face him and saw it: genuine concern blazing behind his eyes. For a moment she felt her defences weaken; for a moment she knew he could search for the answers her tongue would not betray in her eyes. But before he had the chance to interpret the story hiding there she adjusted again, replacing the mask on her face. She watched him, holding his gaze. As always, he was the first to look away, turning his head back to the night sky.

"I know this is a professional partnership, Fran," he continued, "But I would like to consider us friends too. After all, partnerships need trust." She knew he could feel her eyes on him. He paused for a moment, then sighed. "What I'm saying, Fran…"

He trailed off. She waited. He sighed again.

"What I'm saying is that you may talk to me should you ever feel the need," he finished, making to get up.

She watched him for a moment, then almost to her surprise as much as his, her slender arm shot out and a clawed hand grabbed his wrist lightly.

"Stay a while longer," she pleaded.

For a moment much like many of the others they had shared tonight, he did not react. Now curiosity combined with the concern in his eyes. But then he smiled.

"Certainly."

The pair lay in comfortable silence, watching the stars.


	4. The Pendant

**_A/N:_**_ Originally there was another chapter before this one, but I took it out because I felt it wasn't really relevant. Hopefully this still makes sense, but if it doesn't, feel free to let me know and I'll sort it out :) I hope you enjoy it anyway.  
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_And thank you so much to everyone who has reviewed or added to their favourites / alerts so far. Really, it means so much to me ^.^_

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_**4. The Pendant**

_After a raid, aboard the Strahl_

"I must say, you have an eye for value," Balthier commented as he inspected the jewellery Fran had swiped from one of the safes in the mansion they had just raided. "I have a feeling this one is genuine amber, mined from the Westersand."

"Many years amongst humes have taught me much of your valuables," she answered simply, inspecting a jade charm carved into the shape of a wyvern.

She liked it when he complimented her. Usually the only compliments she got were ones regarding her body. It was refreshing to hear positive comments about who she was, not what she looked like. Inside she still seethed slightly at the comments she'd overheard the night before, when they'd been in a run-down tavern prior to their raid. Such comments always made her angry, but she'd learned to hold her head high rather than cause a scene. She felt a slight smile crossing her face at the thought of the wounds she'd leave were she to lose her temper even for a moment.

"What are you smiling about?" He asked from across the table.

"You permit me not to smile?" She retorted, placing aside the charm and picking up a diamond locket. Opening it, she found it to be lined with rose quartz. This jeweller really knew his trade.

"It's just a rare sight," he answered, "And you should know how I value such rarities."

She never minded his occasional subtle flirting. At first she had wondered whether it was the beginning of yet another downward spiral which would inevitably end in her storming off once again after having to fight her way out of rape. But if he had feelings for her, he never acted on them. She'd come to accept that flirting was just a part of his nature, one that he'd either woven into his speech so deeply he no longer noticed it or one he just saw as innocent and playful.

"Tell me, what do you make of this?" He asked.

She looked up at what he was holding out. It appeared to be a sphere of ruby wrapped in tendrils of silver on a fine silver chain. She took it from him with her free hand and instantly felt magick flowing from it.

"It contains powerful magicks," she explained, "I feel it prevents the effect of confusion."

"Useful…" he said pensively. He took it back from her and examined it, holding it up to the light. "Quite a treasure."

"It is beautiful," she answered. "If not for its value, I would keep it myself."

A light smile played on Balthier's lips. "We're sky pirates, Fran," he reminded her, "One of the perks of the job is that we get to choose how we get paid."

She looked up at him questioningly and he smiled. "Incidentally, how much would you value it at?"

"The untrained eye may value it at 600 gil. I believe its worth is far greater. At least 6000, if not more."

Balthier's lips twitched again. "I'm sure we have enough here to make up for 6000 gil. It's been about six months since you joined the Strahl's crew, anyway. You deserve your pay."

"You would allow me to keep such a charm?"

"Absolutely."

He walked round behind her and swept aside her silvery hair, but then hesitated. "If you would allow me…"

She understood. "By all means," she replied softly, setting down the diamond locket she'd been inspecting and staring straight ahead of her.

It was pleasant, the way he brushed her skin ever so slightly with his fingers as he placed the pendant carefully round her neck. It surprised her how steady his hands were; most hume males could not help but shake in her presence. But she liked it. It made her feel at ease.

"How do you get your hair so soft?" The sky pirate muttered.

Fran smiled again without answering. She allowed him to stroke her hair for a little while longer, twirling its silkiness around his fingers, letting it flow across his palms. She gently took the pendant between a finger and thumb and lifted it slightly to admire it.

"It matches your eyes," Balthier commented absent-mindedly, disentangling his fingers from her hair and moving round to get a better look. "I think it means to be yours."

"You believe that a jewel has a will?" She inquired curiously.

"I wouldn't know," he answered, "No doubt some stones possess certain powers. Enough powers to drive a man mad. But this one seems relatively harmless. Indeed, it should keep you from madness."

For a moment longer she admired the silver-adorned stone, before finally dropping it back against her cocoa powder skin.

"Thank you, Balthier."

"Only for you, Fran."

He sat back down and the two continued their work.


	5. While The Wood Sleeps

**_A/N:_**_ Have had a nightmare getting this to work, thanks to breaking laptops and macbooks refusing to accept microsoft word. I've lost all my oneshots but thankfully this survived :)_

_I like this chapter. I hope you enjoy it too. Reviews appreciated, as always :D_

_**Warning: contains a few spoilers about Balthier's past**. No huge revelations or anything, but you might want to get to the Hunters' Camp at the Phon Coast first.  
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**5. While the Wood Sleeps**_  
The Strahl, over the Salikawood_

This was not the first night he had lain awake, staring at the roof of the Strahl. In fact, it was one of many; the fourth in a row. And it wasn't just simple matters keeping him awake.

No. He was remembering things he would rather were caged in some distant, dark corner of his mind, left to gather dust and eventually rot.

_This is ridiculous_, he decided, sitting up and swinging his legs out of bed, _I'm going for a walk_.

Although the Salikawood had never been one of his favourite places, due to its lack of riches and tendency to add chlorophyll stains to his pristine shirts, he hoped it would at least calm him, or that the spores of wild onions and Marlboros would cause him to drift into a slumber. After throwing on his usual attire, minus the gold-embroidered vest, he wandered out of the Strahl and onto the bridge that divided the Salikawood and the Mosphoran Highwaste. He observed the sky, noticing there were few clouds and the stars were clearly visible, like the first flakes of snow against storm clouds. He breathed out gently, then made his way to the woods.

He did not know how long he'd been walking, nor where exactly he was. Only one thing was certain; this place smelled like a wood: the damp, decaying stench of rotting wood; the green scent of the leaves; the weak aroma of water-logged moss. He wondered whether these planks of wood, suspended high above the forest floor, might give way at any minute. The thought distracted him as he strolled. He was pretty certain walking alone in this place at night wasn't safe anyway; all sorts of fiends could be lurking in the darkness, hungry and menacing… but he wasn't bothered. He had his faithful gun with him. They wouldn't stand a chance…

Suddenly he stopped. He had the distinct feeling that he was being followed.

Glancing around and noticing no one, he shrugged it off and carried on. _Clearly you're just paranoid,_ he reassured himself, _After all, who wouldn't be paranoid in a forest that could potentially kill them in numerous ways?_

He stopped again when he heard footsteps on the planks behind him. Instinctively he reached for his gun. Slowly he turned, preparing for a fight.

"Fran?"

Although the moonlight barely penetrated the canopy of the wood, he could just make out her unmistakable outline.

"Where did you come from?" He asked, confused by her presence.

"I followed you from the Strahl," she answered, "You should venture not into the forest alone."

"You've followed me all this way?"

She approached him without saying anything. He had become used to her not speaking immediately after being asked a question. He was even beginning to pick up on little things which told him what she was thinking. Glancing at the ceiling was a sign she was nervous, but a glance to the floor and the right meant she was troubled. A light twitch of her right ear signified annoyance, and a heavier flick of it meant it was because she'd been somewhat harassed by selfish men.

"Why do you not sleep?" She asked as she walked past him, stopping a little way ahead of him and looking back. "I see lassitude in your eyes."

"It would seem sleep doesn't want me these days," he replied, moving to her side. "It would seem it doesn't want you either tonight."

She looked at her toes. "No…" she sighed.

"Shall we walk a little?" He suggested.

Instead of answering verbally, she glanced at him and began to walk. He followed obediently.

They walked in silence for a while before Fran spoke up.

"Why a sky pirate?"

The question threw him off. "What?"

She continued, clearly choosing her words cautiously. "One so young and eloquent needs not to resort to theft to earn his wealth," she said. "Yet you've fled to the skies."

He didn't know how to answer her. How could he? He'd been pushing these thoughts as far away from the surface of his mind for years now, and had no desire to dig them back up.

_But you know they're resurfacing._

"I'm sorry."

He looked at her again. "Why?"

She did not meet his eye. "It is not my place to question your choices."

"You should probably question everything I do and say; sky pirates are hardly trustworthy men," he pointed out.

"I fear I have touched on matters best left alone," she added.

He wanted to tell her it was nothing; that she needn't feel guilty, because he was fine with it all. But he wouldn't lie. Not to her.

"Balthier?"

He snapped back to the real world, realising he'd stopped and Fran was now a few paces ahead of him. He gazed at her, trying to hide the sadness in his eyes, knowing the darkness was no match for her excellent eyesight. Finally, with a sigh, he turned to the edge of the wooden walkway and sat down, swinging his legs over the side. He indicated for her to sit beside him. She obeyed, sliding her toned, slender legs gracefully over the edge of the path. He intended to explain everything to her; tell her about his father, his era as a Judge, his escape to the sky… but he did not know where to start.

"You need not speak," Fran said, "I wish not to intrude."

"Maybe not," he sighed, "But I should stop running sometime. I've done enough of it. You can't hide from the past."

She was staring at her toes again. "No, we cannot."

The customary silence followed her words before Balthier found his tongue.

"My father… was a good man," he began. "He loved and cared for his family; for his wife and his three sons. He would make sacrifices for us. He even put himself out to make his youngest son a Judge. I suppose you could describe us as the perfect example of a happy family."

He could feel her eyes on him. She was listening closely. He exhaled slowly.

"Alas, happy families inevitably fall apart," he sighed. "He found a new love: a stone by the name of Nethicite."

In the moment of silence that followed, he felt a soft-skinned hand resting ever so gently on his shoulder. He continued.

"I watched my father die," he said, "I watched him twist, his sanity deteriorating until you could barely call him a man at all. The Nethicite destroyed him. And I, being the coward I am, fled from him; from Archades; from my life. I ran away, thinking that by doing what I'd always dreamed, I would forget the past…"

He trailed off. She turned her eyes back to her toes.

"I too have fled," she whispered. "I left the wood when I was barely more than a child. I abandoned my kin for my freedom."

It was Balthier's turn to look at her. He gazed at her, past the external beauty at an individual with an inner strength that held back so many secrets.

"Once a Viera goes against the Green Word, she is considered a Viera no more," she explained. "I gained the freedom I yearned for, but I lost those most dear to me."

"Fran…"

He wrapped an arm around her shoulders and held her close, not to feel her skin on his, but as the only way to communicate how much sorrow he felt for both of them. She wrapped her arms around him and rested her head on his shoulder, clinging to him like a lost child, and he felt an overwhelming sense of empathy. She needed him in that moment, to understand, to care, to share her pain, while in his mind he tried to find a way to finish his sentence.

_We are the same._

_You're not alone._

_You'll never be alone._

_You're beautiful._

_I understand._

_I trust you._

_I care about you._

_I need you._

In the end he settled for silence, letting his body language speak while all around them the wood slept.


	6. Close

_**A/N:** I'll be the first to admit this is not the best chapter I've written. I would have rewritten it but alas my teachers have all decided they're going to give me at least one essay this week. However, I shall probably rewrite it once I find a spare moment (although I might wait until I've finished writing this whole story before going back to make changes... we'll see)._

_If you wish to review then please do :) reviews are a real motivation to write more, whether they're praise or constructive criticism, so if you have comments to make then make them and I will sincerely appreciate them :D_

_

* * *

_

**6. Close**_  
A fortnight later, The Mosphoran Highwaste_

Much to Balthier's distaste, it was raining, and the Strahl was still a good mile away. What displeased him more was how rapidly the Mosphoran Highwaste was turning into a never-ending stretch of dirty red mud, which would take forever to clean off his boots. Once again he found himself amazed by Fran's elegance; how was it possible to not only balance on those heels while trekking over such uneven ground, but remain graceful and _clean_?

"Do you know how long this rain's going to last?" He asked irritably, staring down at his now mud-stained legs.

The Viera's ears and nose twitched.

"Not much longer," she answered, "Ten or twenty minutes at the most."

"So we'll arrive back at the Strahl about a minute before the rain stops," he grumbled. "I think I'd rather find a cave and wait it out, wouldn't you?"

She arched a perfectly-shaped silver eyebrow, but did not comment. Clearly the rain and the mud did not bother her. But it bothered him immensely. Spotting a small cave in the cliff face, he marched towards it, leaving Fran little choice but to follow him.

It had been a tiring day so far. After being offered a rather large sum of gil to dispose of a mutant python, said to be lurking somewhere around the Mosphoran Highwaste and terrorising the locals, the two had set off in search of their mark. After several hours of wandering around aimlessly in a light drizzle, they'd finally decided it was time to call it a day and head back to the Strahl. It was, of course, that moment the heavens had decided to really open up. Balthier observed the sky with a mild dissatisfaction once more before backing as far into the rock face as the cave allowed. It wasn't really much, but it was shelter. Out of the corner of his eye, even more to his distaste, he noticed a rather large mud stain on the sleeve of his shirt.

"That's never going to come out," he grumbled. "I think I've remembered why I don't come here often. The rewards simply aren't worth the costs."

"You could afford a new shirt with the bounty we'd receive for slaying the monster," she pointed out.

"It's not that simple," he sighed, "I've had this shirt for nearly a year. I've grown somewhat attached to it."

Once again, Fran raised an eyebrow, but apparently decided better than to question him. Concluding that the rain was not to her taste after all, she sat down beside her partner. He was aware of how close they were, almost touching.

"We'll have to do this all over again tomorrow," he said bitterly, "Let's hope the Gods decide to be a little kinder. I somewhat dislike returning empty-handed."

"Don't we both?" She sighed.

"I always had the feeling such affairs bothered me more," he commented, "It is not in the nature of the leading man to be unsuccessful.

"The leading man must withstand more drama than the extras," she answered gently.

"That he does," he said, "But only because the extras would struggle to cope."

"You truthfully believe that you are a hero," she stated blankly.

A cocky smirk he frequently wore painted its way across his face. "Someone's got to be."

She muttered something under her breath which sounding suspiciously like "arrogant". Balthier chuckled. The two had become used to joking and teasing. Although arguments arose at some points, they were few and far between.

"I'd watch out if I were you," he told her, "You don't want to get me angry. The leading man always wins when it comes to fighting."

"You have not considered the possibility of a first time for everything," She pointed out.

"Oh be quiet, you know I'd win," he retorted.

"Is that so?"

He hesitated, as if to consider his reply. Just as he was about to answer, he yelped as Fran pounced on him, swiftly pinning his arms against the rock behind him and trapping his legs with one of her own.

"Do you believe it now?" She asked.

_Right now I believe you're rather close_, he thought, but did not say this. Instead he struggled uselessly against her vice-like grip, knowing full well that he had no chance of escaping. He sighed in defeat.

"Very well; you win," he said. "I dare say you are mighty swift."

Her eyes seemed to be smirking slightly. "Will you make an apology now?"

"Apologise? I fail to see what for," he answered, conjuring up his most charming smile. "Now if you'd be so kind as to let me go…"

"For underestimating me," she replied, "And for overestimating yourself."

"Go against my nature? Surely a man is allowed the freedom to think whatever he likes about himself," he purred. _And you appear to be somewhat close…_

"You will apologise." She was doing a poor job at pretending to be mad at him.

"Come now, Fran…" He struggled to escape, writhing beneath her vice-like grip. "Where are your manners?"

"Elsewhere, with yours, it would appear," she answered swiftly.

"Couldn't you at least loosen your grip? Your claws are rather digging into me…"

In all his struggling, he hadn't noticed they'd been inching closer together until now. He found himself paralysed. Their noses were practically touching, their breaths mingling in the few inches that separated their lips. He focused on her eyes, her bright, crimson eyes, redder than all the rubies in Ivalice, hoping, praying, she couldn't see the discomfort he felt. He subtly inhaled her scent; the faint smell of what could have been vanilla mixed with a more woodland aroma that he couldn't quite identify. By trying to work out what it might be, he almost managed to keep his mind off how soft her lips would feel if he just moved a little closer…

"The rain has stopped. We should return to the Strahl."

Fran released her grip on her partner and stood up in one smooth motion, her back to him.

"Oh, you think you're getting away that easy?" Balthier asked, resuming his arrogant smirk and leaping up.

She turned round just in time to see him pouncing, and stepped aside with swift elegance. Unprepared for this, Balthier found himself stumbling and almost falling over, causing the Viera to laugh quietly. He glared at her.

"Don't you start thinking this is by any means over," he growled playfully.

She simply smiled, then turned and started running. Balthier watched her sprint faster than he could on a non-slippery surface while barefoot, and found himself once again amazed at her sense of balance.

"Damned Viera," he muttered to himself, before running after Fran.


	7. Comfort

_**A/N: **__Wow, you have no idea how uplifting it is to log onto your email after a really long day to find I have a tonne of emails from telling me so many people have reviewed, favourited and alerted this story. Thank you so much!_

_This isn't the original chapter 7; it was initially going to be a oneshot, but I liked it better than the chapter 7 I initially wrote for this story. I hope you think it's okay :)_

_Also, I'd like to try something similar to a writing challenge that I used to do with a couple of friends, but I need your help. Visit my profile page for details. It would mean a lot if you could help :)_

_Reviews make my day, so feel free to give me any kind of feedback, be it constructive criticism or praise ^.^_

**7. Comfort**

_The Strahl_

She'd promised him this wouldn't take her long. She'd insisted he went to bed and leave her to it. After all, his constant yawning had been getting somewhat irritating, and the rings around his eyes showed just how exhausted he was. She'd told him "I'll finish this. You must rest; exhaustion does a man no favours". Finally, when he was barely able to keep his hazel eyes open, he had stumbled off to bed, leaving Fran to finish annotating the diagram spread across the table. It had seemed like a good idea at the time; the diagram had appeared to be almost complete. But it seemed the more she filled in, the more she had to do. Staring at the lines and sketches only made them blur. She could feel her head falling ever closer to the table, her eyelids getting heavier as the crimson eyes behind them ached with tiredness.

*

The world was dark, as if under the veil of night. She recognised where she was immediately; this was the Paramina Rift. It did not seem strange to her that she couldn't feel the cold; she didn't even think about it. She stalked down the snow-coated mountain through the blizzard that whirled around her. She found herself in the Frozen Brook, and all around she could see many other viera, all doing various activities. On closer inspection, she could see that they were all her. One was sewing, creating what appeared to be a tapestry of the wood, yet the trees were black and dead and the path was blood-soaked. Another was strumming a lute with many broken strings, although Fran could not hear its sound. Yet another version of her appeared to be playing with toys commonly seen amongst hume children, yet every toy she picked up would somehow break.

Fran tried not to look at them. She didn't want to see them. But every way she turned her head, she could see another one, each more unnatural and twisted than she last. Still she did not feel the blizzard on her skin.

_Choose your path, child._

She looked around, taking in each of the viera in the brook. She knew she had to get out of here. The other versions of herself were disturbing… _frightening_. She didn't want to see them anymore, or be anywhere near then. She could not turn back; back lead to the wood, where she was no longer welcome. She looked for a way out… any way. But the other 'Frans' were blocking the pathways… all except for one. She marched forward, seeing the path clearly, knowing this was the way she had to go. But as she ascended, something rose from the ground. It was not another horrifying, twisted viera; it was the man whom humes had chosen to represent Death; the Grim Reaper. She stopped dead at the sight of him, his black cape billowing in the wind of the blizzard, hollow eyes staring, blank and cold, the skull mouth neither smiling nor unsmiling.

_"You know that I will never allow that," _ he whispered, although the voice seemed to be all around her. _"He will be mine, foolish child…"_

For the first time she glimpsed someone familiar, _Balthier_. He was huddled on a rock against the cliff face behind the Grim Reaper, gazing straight ahead. She felt herself panic.

The Grim Reaper laughed softly, sinisterly, pulling an hourglass from thin air. Fran could see the sand was flowing too fast. She tried to run past the Grim Reaper, past him to Balthier… but…

The blizzard around her whirled, whistling, cackling evilly at her, blinding her to the world. And for the first time, she truly felt its cold arms encasing her...

*

For a moment, she was too paralysed with fear to even open her eyes. _A dream_, she reminded herself, _You were dreaming. It's over. You'll be fine._

But something told her she would not be fine. The image of the Grim Reaper stealing Balthier from her was fresh in her mind. The other viera, twisted and disturbing, still terrified her. She knew that dreams like that had to mean something, but she did not want to think about what any aspect of it could have meant. Not knowing what to think or feel, she simply stayed where she was, the shock and fear running through her like electricity.

And then she felt arms sliding around her, warm and comforting, and she was lifted ever so gently from where she had fallen asleep. For a moment her heart lurched in panic, but then the faint smell of sandalwood and cinnamon, masking the slight scent of engine oil, told her that it was Balthier. She forgot about her dream for a moment; Balthier was not huddled on the Paramina Rift, about to be stoled by Death; he was here, on the Strahl, holding Fran in his arms. She inhaled his scent as subtly as she could, silently wondering how he managed to smell so pleasant when most sky pirates she'd met simply stank of oil and metal. Perhaps he made a conscious effort, believing that oil was not an appropriate smell for the leading man. She decided that it didn't matter; what mattered was that his scent was calming, almost comforting.

Eventually she felt herself being lowered onto a bed and a blanket being pulled over her. Part of her wanted to ask him why he was awake, but a larger part of her told her she need not know or care. She felt him sit beside her and stroke her hair gently. She did not say anything, or even hint that she was awake; she simply let him, feeling comforted by his tender touch.

After a while, he finally withdrew his hand from her hair and rose to his feet. For a moment, nothing else happened. Then he moved to the door.

"Sleep tight, Fran," she heard him whisper, before opening the door as quietly as possible and sliding out.

She fell asleep almost instantly. This time, her sleep was not haunted by the twisted viera of the Paramina Rift; instead she strolled through warm, colourful meadows, Balthier at her side.


	8. The Engine

_**A/N:**__ Sorry, I just have to announce this… after attempting for a good 2 hours of trying non-stop, I have FINALLY got a moon ring from the ash wyrm on the Mosphoran Highwaste! Still need another 2 to get the Sagittarius but yeah, I'm happy to have finally got one :P_

_Back to relevant matters… this has been rewritten so many times. I'm still not entirely happy with this, but I've leave it up to you to decide what you think of it._

_As always, reviews = love, as any writer will tell you, so let me know what you think :D_

**8. The Engine**

Of course, life wasn't always perfect aboard the Strahl.

Although Balthier was not a regular drinker, he did like to drop by the tavern occasionally. Fran couldn't stand it; too many humes would leer at her, their eyes greedy, already imagining her without her clothes. It made her sick. Sometimes it was tolerable, but all too frequently she'd let Balthier know she was going to return to the Strahl early. She'd insist she was tired or the alcohol was giving her a headache, but she knew that he secretly understood the real reason she didn't want to be there.

And every time she left, he'd come back the next morning, hungover and smelling of girls and sex.

Usually, she'd shrug it off. Why should she care what he did, providing he returned to the Strahl, ready to resume work? What did it matter that he'd spent the night in another girl's bed, waking up only to realise he barely remembered getting there? It was none of her business.

But she knew it secretly bothered her. Although he'd never brought back any of the girls, she wondered what would happen if one day he did, announcing that she would be joining them on their travels. She liked having Balthier to herself. She didn't want to share him with some ignorant hume girl. She imagined having to live with some silly, pretty girl, with no experience in sky-pirating whatsoever. She imagined her screaming at the sight of fiends, cowering whenever she had to get herself dirty, clinging to Balthier every time he started the engine… and she imagined Balthier's sandalwood and cinnamon smell fading, to be replaced permanently by the unnaturally overpowering smell of lavender, or magnolia, or whatever it was that _she_ smelled of.

*

The night had been a long one. Something had managed to climb into the engine whilst Fran had been away and had wrecked all kinds of havoc. Irritated from the night of being leered at and talked to like she were nothing more than a common whore, Fran wanted nothing more than to climb into her bed and sleep the night away, waking up the next morning to find Balthier back in his bed with no girl in sight. But instead she slid down into the engine room to see what she could fix.

*

Balthier could not remember much of the previous night. He vaguely recalled a few of the events that had taken place… the petite black-haired girl chatting him up, the green-eyed brunette telling him some kind of sob-story about her parents that he struggled to even pretend to believe… he'd gone to bed with one of them; he was sure of it. But which one? Or was it both? And why was he here, in his bed in the Strahl, when he usually woke up at the girl's house? It didn't make much sense. He remembered stumbling through the streets of Rabanastre by himself… had he really walked back to the Strahl?

His head pounded dully and he groaned. Waking up to a hangover had _never_ been his thing. Why did he find getting drunk and shagging some nameless teenager so appealing? He decided that it would be best to go back to sleep.

_If I don't acknowledge the morning, the morning can't acknowledge me_, he thought decisively, rolling over and attempting to go back to sleep. His logic lasted approximately three seconds before and unholy whining pierced his brain.

"What the…" he sat up. The noise was coming from the engine room. Realising there was no chance of him ignoring it, he pushed himself out of bed and stumbled out of his room, completely disregarding the fact he was wearing just a crumpled shirt and a pair of boxer shorts. He pushed open the heavy metal door to the engine room to find Fran, face and hands thick with grime, clearly doing _something_ to the engine.

"Fran, what are you _doing_?" He snapped. "That engine sounds like it's about to split open!"

"I'm fixing it," She answered, quite calmly.

"_Fixing_ it? You're making it worse!" He argued.

She turned to glare at him. "I am almost done," She told him, and although her voice was steady, her eyes told him everything he needed to know; he was not welcome.

"You've been here for a few seconds, Fran, and you're not doing anything to help that racket," He pointed out, "Let me-"

"I have been working since I returned here last night," She explained, and once again her eyes said everything that her voice didn't, "I need only a little longer."

"Well let _me_ do it," he insisted, "You're clearly exhausted. Go to bed."

"Exhausted I may be, but hungover I am not," she stated, "My judgement is less impaired than yours."

"Fran." He tried to keep his voice steady like hers, but he was far too irritated. His brain was throbbing, like someone had smacked him over the head with a hammer. "You aren't fit to work in this state. Go to bed."

"You-"

"_Go. To. Bed._"

For a moment, the viera did not move. Then, very slowly, she stood to her full height and turned to face him. Her eyes were burning with rage. Balthier eyed the wrench in her hand nervously.

"I shall finish this," She said calmly. "You should wash yourself. Rose is not a suitable scent for the leading man."

Her statement was final. She turned back to the screeching engine and continued to work on it. Balthier sighed.

"Tell you what," he said, "We'll _both_ work on it. After all, two invalids make hastier work than one."

He reached into the toolbox beside Fran and pulled out a screwdriver.

"Besides," he added, "There's no one I'd rather spend my sick days with than you."

Realising what a stupid line it was, he mentally braced himself, preparing for a storm of insults regarding his attitude and perhaps the wrench to come flying at his head and knocking him back to sleep. When nothing happened, he glanced across at his partner to see that her eyes were no longer livid, and he could have been imagining it, there was an ever so slight twinge of pink to her cheeks. He felt himself smile gratefully, knowing that secretly he'd been forgiven.


	9. The Gift

_**A/N:**__ Not entirely happy with this chapter, but it's satisfactory enough to post. Might rewrite it once I'm free. I have so much on until Christmas. And then I go back to college for exams. Time to write is limited :(_

_Oh yeah, and I'm updating early because I'm in Robin Hood country visiting my brother this weekend. But if I can get on the internet tomorrow I shall post the next chapter too, as it's pretty much a direct run-on to this chapter (I know, most of this is more like a series of one-shots)._

_Hope you enjoy this. Off to see Paramore now ;)_

**9. The Gift**

_A month later, just outside Balfonheim Port_

He gazed up at the sky. It was a fine day here on the edge of the Cerobi Steppe, with a warm sun to heat the world and a calm breeze to prevent it from becoming too hot. It was making Balthier a little drowsy, but he knew it would be undignified to fall asleep and wake up to Fran telling him he drooled, snored or sleep-talked… or quite possibly a combination of the three.

Speaking of Fran, where had she got to? She'd told him she was going to the market to see if she could find some new magicks while he went to check the notice board at the Whitecap Tavern and to meet him here. Surely it didn't take over an hour to find some magicks?

Lazily, he aimed the barrel of his gun at an oblivious bird, soaring high above. He closed one eye and focused, taking into account wind speed and direction, the altitude of the bird and the direction in which it was flying. He squeezed the trigger. Much to his disliking, the bird changed course a split second before the shot was fired and escaped unscathed. He glared at it and took aim again; it was going to pay for making him miss. He fired another shot. A sudden gust of wind blew just as he did, apparently knocking the bullet off course. He let out a snarl. It would appear that the Gods did not want him to shoot this damned bird. He took aim once more.

_This time, I'll get you_, he thought, hoping the bird was telepathic. _Oh yes, you should fear me, little friend…_

He took his time, carefully following the bird with the nozzle of his altair, waiting for it to stop for a rest. He smirked as it perched on the top of the cliff. He pressed his finger to the trigger…

"Balthier."

He jumped, just as he fired off the shot. The bird flew off in panic, still alive and uninjured. He turned to glare at his viera partner.

"Fran! You made me miss!" He whined, rather like a child whose favourite toy had been taken away by its mother.

"Perhaps it is best," she said simply, showing no remorse for her actions. "Here. For you."

He frowned in confusion as she held out a small brown paper bag. He looked from her to it and back again.

"For me?" He repeated.

She nodded. He took it from her curiously, wondering what could possibly motivate her to buy him a gift. He opened it and pulled out four brightly-coloured rings: one pink, one blue, one green and one yellow.

"Thanks Fran." He admired them as they sat in his palm. She really did know him too well; these were exactly the sort of thing he would keep for himself had he taken them during a raid. "But… why such generosity? Surely I am not quite this deserving?''

"One is of gratitude," she explained, "I wish to thank you for your hospitality, despite my being difficult at times."

"Like the time you threatened me with a wrench."

He saw a gentle smirk playing upon her lips as she clearly remembered the occasion.

"The second is an apology for such times," she continued.

"An apology? I feel they rather add depth to our friendship, wouldn't you agree?"

Again, she was half-smiling in a way that made his heart flutter. "Perhaps," she answered. She continued, "The third is of respect, for you as both partner and friend."

"You spoil me, Fran," he told her, "Really, you didn't need to go to such trouble. You're my work partner, not my servant. I'm obliged to show you hospitality and the likes. The both of us know how lost I'd be without you."

In her eyes danced something that could have been amusement. He stared at her a moment longer, before lowering his eyes back to the rings in his palm.

"So then, what is the fourth for?"

There was a brief pause before she answered. "The fourth is… simply because."

He waited for more. "Because…?"

He raised his eyes to meet hers, and saw that although her lips weren't smiling, her eyes most certainly were. She sighed, but did not say anymore.

"Very well…" he placed the rings on the fingers of his left hand; two on his pointer and two on his middle. "I hope you didn't spend much."

"I spent as much on you as you deserve," she answered.

He admired his newly-decorated hand and smiled again. "Honestly, Fran, no one knows me better than you. Once again you have made my day."

Although she didn't ask him what "once again" meant, he could tell that she was thinking it. He was extremely aware that there was a slight pink colour blossoming across his face. He was not about to explain that she made his day everyday; he did not fancy her claw marks across his face.

"If you insist," she finally said. "Tell me of your discoveries. Have we any new hunts?"

"Of course," he answered. He pulled out a bill and began to go over what he had been told by the petitioner.


	10. Because

_**A/N:**__ So after much struggling with the wireless network, I managed to access the internet in order to post this chapter. Yaaaay._

_Hope you enjoy it; it's pretty close to the original (unlike the last 3 or so). I know it's a little short, and I apologise for that. I think it works as short and sweet, but I'd like to know what you think. Feedback is the best thing a writer can get, be it constructive criticism of praise, so please review if you have anything to say at all! :)_

**10. Because**

_The Cerobi Steppe_

_"The fourth is… simply because."_

She gazed at the back of Balthier's head as the two trekked across the grasslands of the Cerobi Steppe in search of their next mark. The bright sunlight made it shimmer like fine strands of polished bronze.

_How could I ever tell you?_

In his hands he held his trusty altair, occasionally pointing it at innocent birds and pulling the trigger for the fun of it. It almost made her laugh, watching him being so childish. Almost. It took a lot to make her laugh. It was just part of the nature of the viera to appear cold and unfeeling. Although she smiled more than the rest of her species, she still could not laugh with ease, even after nearly fifty years apart from them.

_How could I ever let myself believe, for even one moment, that the pair of us could be happy?_

He was but twenty-one years old. Twenty-one! She was over four times his age. He was a child to her. A child… yet he would be long buried before her. She would live another century before she joined him in the earth. She could not bear the thought.

_This curse of time shall take you from me._

On his left hand he was now sporting the rings she had given him. She noticed him occasionally taking his eyes off the scenery to observe them and give them a slight smile. It made the corners of her own lips twitch. It pleased her to see him happy, and it pleased her more to know that it was she who had made him so.

_"The fourth is… simply because."_

She had never fallen in love. She kept her heart very much shielded from Humes. Indeed, she had rarely got attached to any Hume at all. She had learned that, in their eyes, viera were considered beautiful, mysterious and desirable. They had attempted to use her for their selfish cravings, and so she had learned to fend for herself, no longer yearning for the foolish dream of love's comforting shell.

_I swore not to tear out my own heart._

When she had first come of an appropriate age she had longed to find love amongst Humes. She had craved the desire of another and had wasted years of her long life searching for one whom she could love and who would love her in return. Gradually it had become apparent that love did not want her, and so she had learned to shun the thought of it. But now she felt that she was coming close to finding that which she had sought throughout her youth, and it made her feel uncomfortable.

_I know I will only lose you._

She had seen the Humes she once lived alongside grow older, ageing faster than her, believing that their equivalent age gave them more power and knowledge than her, and yet she still saw them as little more than children. She had even seen some lives draw to a conclusion, many before their time. It would not be wise to open her heart to one who would be forced to abandon her for death, years before her own time was up.

_Though for your loving arms I yearn, my heart must remain guarded._

He was the first she had ever let in this far. He was the first Hume in which she had lain her trust so completely. He was the first in a long time she had considered a friend. And he was the first whose arms she longed to hold her safe.

_But viera and hume cannot love each other in harmony._

She could not have him because time and death would inevitably steal him from her and she would be alone, heart battered and broken, consumed by her own misery. No, she had walked alone for long enough, and she would fare better if she continued to walk alone.

_The fourth is… simply because I can give you neither my heart nor my love, no matter how much I wish it. It is because you are you, and I cannot explain why, but you are special. It is because I yearn to be more than just part of your life; I wish to be your life. It is because we are a species apart, yet were we not, I would belong to you. It is because I need no reason to be here, other than because we wish it._

She felt a tap on her shoulder and saw her partner pointing across the grasslands towards a creature in the near-distance resembling the one drawn on the bill he had taken from the noticeboard in Balfonheim. She turned to him and nodded, drawing her bow and pulling an arrow from her quiver. The two set off again, understanding each other in such a way that they needed no verbal communication.

_It is because we need each other._

_And that… is simply because._


	11. Confessing

_**A/N:**__ So you're probably going to be a little disappointed with this chapter. No seriously, you'll get about half way through it and go "…what?" :P But the next chapter's good, promise ;)_

_I should've put this up earlier (it's not even Saturday anymore where I am…) but alas it was my birthday on Friday (yaaay I'm officially an adult) and my brother got me FFVIII… I think I have genuinely fallen in love with Squall. Oopsies :D_

_On with the story! Hope you enjoy. Feel free to review if you like :)_

**11. Confessing**

_Two months later, the Ozmone Plain_

He'd been gone for over an hour. Fran looked up from the charts in front of her and gazed out of the tiny window onto the Ozmone Plain. The sun was beginning to sink in the sky, casting a rose glow across the horizon and tainting the clouds pink. She wondered where he had got to. He'd told her he was going outside for five minutes of fresh air.

_An hour past is not five minutes,_ she thought to herself. Although she knew he was perfectly capable of fending for himself, she could not help but worry. What if he had managed to run unknowingly into the Zertinan Caverns? What if he'd encountered a particularly nasty horde of fiends? Any number of things could have happened to him.

Deciding she could wait for him no longer, she stood up and strode out of the control room to the bridge, where she descended the steps from the Strahl to the grassy ground of the Ozmone Plain. She stalked along, listening hard, eyes scanning the landscape. It didn't take her long to find him. He was stood, not far from the airship, watching the sunset. She made her way towards him, stopping a short distance away.

"Over and hour has passed since your departure," she announced, "What keeps you, Balthier?"

He turned his head slightly so that she could see his profile, but then turned back to the sunset.

"I was merely watching the skies," he answered simply, "Is it unnatural for a sky pirate to stop and admire the beauty of it every once in a while?"

She could detect disquiet in his voice. It made her wary, not wanting to go any closer. She couldn't explain why it made her as nervous as she felt then.

Realising she wasn't going to say anything in response, he continued.

"You know that I respect you, do you not? He asked.

"Of course," she replied, slightly confused, "And I return it."

"Yes." He continued to gaze at the gently glowing crimson sky, still not looking at her. "I respect and value you as a professional partner and a friend. This I trust you know."

She approached him cautiously, still extremely wary of him. "I sense discomfort. Something troubles you."

He let out a laugh, one that sounded most unnatural and full to the brim with anxiety. "Dear me, Fran, are your senses really that sharp or am I just see-through?"

"A little of both," she answered, drawing level with him and watching his hazel eyes as they reflected the pink-tainted sky.

He smiled. "Would you consider it a blessing or a curse to have the ability to tell what others are feeling?"

"A curse," she replied, "I frequently learn that which wishes to remain undiscovered. It provokes in me disquiet."

"A fair point," he said, "But does it not allow you valuable insight into the minds of others?"

"Valuable? I care not what others think," she retorted. It was true that she could often deduce the emotions of others from their body language and pheromones, but she did not like to go to the trouble of attempting to work out their exact thoughts when such things should remain private.

"I'm glad. I think you would lose much of my trust if I discovered you were reading my mind," he commented.

"Telepathy is not a gift with which I was bestowed," she said, "You try to alter our course of conversation. What is it that causes you such unease?"

"You know me too well," he commented, an uncomfortable smirk playing on his lips. He waited for her to reply, doubtless so that he could once again attempt to distract her from her own question. When she did not answer, he sighed in defeat.

"Very well," he said, "I guess I should feel free to tell you what plagues me. I am supposed to trust you after all."

Still she did not answer. She waited patiently, watching him silently. She was curious; curious and… she tried to suppress her feelings of hopefulness. What was there to be hopeful for?

She knew, secretly, exactly what she wanted him to say. But she denied it to herself.

_It will only complicate matters,_ she reminded herself, _a viera cannot love a hume._

"You see, Fran… I appear to have encountered a slight issue with which I've had little trouble before."

She noticed that he was no longer smiling; he was fidgeting with the cuffs of his shirt, staring at them as if such fidgeting required a great amount of concentration. This alone was uncharacteristic. She'd never have thought that "the leading man" would display such anxiety, especially in such a form as fidgeting.

"An issue I never thought I'd be cursed with enduring," he continued softly, "But I suppose I can only run and hide from it for so long. It's truly cornered me now, I believe."

She felt her heart beginning to pound, her breaths subtly becoming sharper. All thoughts left her head.

"Fran…"

He turned to look at her. She saw in his eyes how tense he felt. She knew an overwhelming part of him did not want him to speak his next line, but another part needed it desperately.

"It is okay to say it," she told him, somehow managing to keep her voice as steady and cold as ever, despite her heart being in her throat.

He took a deep breath.

"Fran… I… I think…"

He exhaled heavily and waited. Fran waited with him.

"I need your to mend my shirts for me."

*

…_what?_

Balthier cringed inwardly. Never had he wanted the ground to open up and swallow him more in his _life_. And it seemed that Fran wished very much the same fate for him as she fixed him with a cold glare.

"_Excuse_ me?" She snarled.

"Well… I'm hardly skilled with a needle and they've been developing rather a few holes as of late," he explained hastily, his voice apologetic.

He wanted nothing more than to just _die_ at that moment in time, and the look on her face suggested that she would take great pleasure in granting his wish.

Eventually she turned, stalking off back to the Strahl. "If that is what you desire," she called over her shoulder, "It shall be done."

He sighed and buried his face in his hands, slumping onto a rock. For a whole _hour_ he'd spent rehearsing what he was going to say to her… and now what did he have to show for it?

He groaned inwardly. Why was it that he could play such a convincing leading man to everyone else, and yet whenever she was around he always messed up his lines? _Why_? Now she was mad at him. Furious, in fact. And he had her sewing up his shirts instead of cradled in his arms. It wasn't even as if he'd been all that secretive in the speech leading up to his 'big announcement'. She could probably have guessed what he was going to say, and had been waiting for him to just get it over with so that she could explain she wasn't interested and leave.

_Or maybe… just maybe… she'd have embraced you, and told you she'd felt the same…_

_Just what kind of leading man am I?_ He asked his head. _Of all the things I could have said, of the many thousands of lines I could have chosen to cover for myself… I asked her to do my dirty work in the form of mending shirts._

Rage at his own cowardice surged through him and he stood up to kick the rock he was sat on. He yelped in pain as his foot came in contact with the stone and he hopped about on the other foot for a few seconds, cradling his now-injured foot as best as he could in his hands. Cursing under his breath, he hobbled back to the Strahl, deciding that he should apologise to Fran immediately for asking her to do something so ridiculous.


	12. Lose Control

_**A/N:**__ Late Merry Christmas to everyone :) I hope you all had a great day._

_Well I'm not entirely happy with the first half of this chapter, but the second part was quite enjoyable to write. I hope you enjoy reading it ;) Reviews are welcome! Also, I have now discovered that I can actually reply to reviews (:O I'm so slow) so from now on, I'll reply to reviews XD_

**12. Lose Control**

_The Sandsea, Rabanastre_

Fran glared at her drink as if it was personally responsible for her bad mood. _Where is Balthier?_ She asked angrily in her head. It had been a full fifty minutes now. He'd only gone to speak to a petitioner in Lowtown. Unless he'd managed to stumble upon the Garamsythe Waterway, she couldn't imagine a horrible fate befalling him in _Lowtown_.

"I bet you ten gil she'll want nothing to do with you."

_How undignified_, Fran thought with a scowl, knowing instinctively that they were talking about her. She'd had to put up with this kind of behaviour all night and it was beginning to wear her patience thin. She could not express how much she truly detested hume boys wasting their money trying to get anything more from her than a polite decline to accompany them to the nearest bed. Although she had grown used to such behaviour, she still didn't appreciate it. In fact, it disgusted her. She continued to glare at her tankard of ale.

"Twenty gil says I'll get her in my bed before the end of the night."

"Fifty says you get a slap."

She suppressed a snarl and continued to glare at the tankard. _Where is Balthier?_

The next thing she knew, a glass of wine had been placed in front of her. Surprised and deeply unimpressed, she raised her glare to meet the eyes of a muscular, well-groomed hume. She could still smell last night's girl on him.

"What do you mean by _this_?" She snarled, slowly.

He smirked, clearly confident in his abilities, and sat down beside her. "Just some wine for a beautiful lady," he answered, "The name's Danilo, by the way."

She continued to stare coldly, unblinkingly at him. It seemed to be unnerving him. She could smell him beginning to sweat; a most unpleasant smell.

"Drink up," he said, still smiling, "You don't have to pay me. I just wanted to provide you with some company. You looked really lonely."

"You think me a fool?" She growled menacingly. She'd really had _enough_ of this.

His smile faltered and he laughed in an attempt to cover up his slip in confidence. "Well… obviously not," he answered, "I guess you think I have… other things on my mind, huh?"

Without taking her eyes off him, she picked up the glass in one hand and snapped its stem with her fingers. She set it back down on its side, as if it had been knocked over, so that wine seeped over the table. Fury was boiling inside her; this hume was so arrogant and selfish. Did he not realise she did not desire his company? Could he not see that she was not interested in him even remotely?

And yet he continued to smirk.

"You like it rough?" He asked in what he probably believed to be a seductive voice, "I can do rough, if that's what you're into."

Still not taking her eyes off him, she stood up slowly, rising to her full height so that she towered over him, her ears slightly flattened against her head in anger. Most people would be intimidated and realise it was a threat. She turned and stalked off, holding up her head, refusing to look down.

_I shall uphold my dignity_, she thought fiercely, _No matter what, I will not strike, I will not lash out, I will not give him what he deserves. I am above that. I am-_

Her thoughts were cut off by a new surge of rage as she felt a hand sliding around her waist.

"Knew I'd win you over," the boy said to the place her ear would be had she been hume.

All thoughts of patience and upholding dignity were lost. Without giving any warning whatsoever, she struck out, sending a stiletto-clad heel flying into his face with a bellow of rage. She turned and her other leg followed the first as soon as it landed. Next her claws sunk into his flesh, scratching anything visible: his face, his arms, his neck. She kicked him again, this time driving the heel of the stiletto into his stomach and causing him to double over.

She could not bear another moment in his presence. She stormed out, heading back to the Strahl as fast as possible.

*

Balthier returned to the Sandsea a few minutes later. He took one look at the scene before him, noticed Fran had gone, and put the two together. He raced back to the Strahl without bothering to add to the man's injuries. Fran had done quite a good job by the looks of things anyway.

He reached the Strahl and hurried through the bridge, calling for her. He made straight for her room and flung the door open to find her sitting on her bed, staring quite calmly ahead of her.

"Fran?" He moved into the room and closed the door gently behind him. "Are you alright?"

She did not answer immediately, as she often did. He moved closer, cautiously, as he had never seen Fran lose her temper and wasn't entirely sure what she was capable of.

"Balthier," she finally state. "Do you… think I am beautiful?"

He stopped dead, completely thrown by her question. "What?"

She raised her eyes to meet his. "Do you yearn to run yours hands across my skin, to kiss my neck, to hear me cry your name?"

He was paralysed. "Fran, I don't understand," he said, flustered, "Are you okay? I went to the Sandsea and-"

She stood up and marched towards him, grabbing his collar. Even without her customary heels she was taller than him, although not by much.

"Please answer me, Balthier," she demanded, her voice a delicate, almost vulnerable tone, "Do you think me beautiful?"

"I… Fran, of course I do, but-"

Whatever he was about to say got cut off by her lips crashing against his. He was so stunned that at first he did not respond as she pulled his body so close to hers that their heartbeats seemed to merge. But then he closed hi eyes, tangled his hands in her silver hair and returned her ferocious kiss. It was ecstasy, feeling her hands slide over his shoulders and down his back before stroking his chest as her lips continued to move against his. He allowed his own hands to move down her body, gently following her curves before coming to a rest on her hips. As her clawed fingers reached under his shirt though, he was brought back to reality and pulled away.

"Fran," he gasped, his breathing heavy and his heart pounding, "Fran, stop."

Her hands stopped moving but she did not step back. He could feel her equally heavy breaths hot on his face.

"Please, Fran," he whispered, "Think about this."

For a moment longer, neither of them moved. Then Fran removed her hands from under his shirt and collapsed back on her bed, looking away from him.

"I am sorry," she said, and for once Balthier could hear emotion in her voice. "I do not know what came over me."

He sat down beside her. "You're upset," he answered, "And you have the right. You've been mistreated. Of course you're going to be angry."

"I should have remained dignified," she stated blankly, "I did not. I have disgraced myself."

"No you haven't. You've only-"

"Please, Balthier. Just leave."

Deciding it was better to do as he was told, Balthier rose and walked to the door, but before he left he turned back to her.

"By the way, Fran… I really do think you're beautiful."

With that, he turned round, opened the door and left, completely unaware that she would be gazing after him for a long time that night.


	13. Apologies

_**A/N:**__ Heh, sorry the last chapter upset people. Hopefully this chapter won't be as upsetting. After reading it through I've realised it's probably not my best, but I hope it's sufficient. You're the jury, you decide :)_

_Reviews are appreciated, as always, just to let me know how I'm doing. Oh, and a late Happy New Year! Hope you all have a great 2010 :D_

**13. Apologies**

What had she been _thinking_? Why had she thrown herself at him like that? Did she really, honestly believe that by forcing herself on him she would solve her woes? Had she thought it would excuse her earlier behaviour or dissolve her curse of time and make a romantic relationship feasible? _Really_?

She realised that her frustration had caused her to tear a hole in the pillow on which her head rested. She sighed, knowing she'd have to fix it later. She was fairly skilled with a needle, so it wouldn't be too much trouble, but it was a nuisance all the same, especially when she couldn't get her mind off her behaviour the night before.

_Balthier must hate me,_ she thought sadly as she searched for a needle. _He must think me deranged and dangerous, perhaps even a liability. What if he wants me on board no longer?_

The thought struck her in a way that caused her to panic. She did not want to be told she was no longer required on board the Strahl. She had lived here for over a year now and had grown used to being around the sky pirate and his bizarre personality quirks. She did not look forward to the day she would no longer hear his tuneless humming whenever he thought she wasn't listening, or shake her head in disapproval as he made a mess of the table every time he attempted eating anything. She would miss creeping into his room on nights when she was wide awake, just to watch him sleep. She would miss his laugh; his smile, the way he lightly stroked her hair and thought she didn't notice; even his annoying habit of leaving dirty coffee mugs in the control room, giving her an excuse to snap at him, for him to apologise and for her to forgive him…

_I have to make this right,_ she decided, rising from her bed and setting off in search of Balthier.

She found him in the kitchen, shirtless as he usually was in the mornings, staring into the depths of a mug that held his regular morning coffee. The smell always saddened her a little; how could he ruin a perfectly good cup of coffee by adding milk and sugar to it?

"Balthier…"

He looked up from his mug to meet her eyes.

"Good morning, Fran," he greeted, before staring determinedly back into the mug, as if he could make himself disappear into it by shear will power.

She took a deep breath. "I wish to apologise for my behaviour last night," she explained. "I was hoping perhaps I might earn your forgiveness."

"Relax, Fran. You've done nothing that requires such forgiveness," he sighed, still not lifting his eyes from his coffee.

"What I did was wrong."

"It probably wasn't the best way to show your disapproval of strange men attempting to take advantage of you," he confessed, his expression beginning to soften, "However it was understandable, and I think we managed to prevent anything with truly disastrous consequences from happening."

"I shall not be so irresponsible in the future," she stated, trying not to think about what he might have been referring to when he'd said 'anything with truly disastrous consequences'.

"It's quite alright," he said, "Let us forget and move on. The mark I went to discuss last night is lurking towards the south of the Estersand, close to Nalbina. I don't know about you, but I rather fancy a walk in the desert; it makes for a pleasant change of scenery. It would seem the day is cool enough for such an occasion, but we'd still fare best if we leave early and return before the sun reaches its peak. What say you?"

"I have no objection," she replied.

"Excellent." He drained his coffee mug with a single swig and placed it by the sink. "I shall get myself dressed while you have yourself some breakfast and we'll set off in half an hour, shall we?"

"It is certain." She stalked past him to the kettle. She felt his eyes linger on her a moment longer before he walked across to the door.

_Just say it_, she thought, _He will not want such a relationship anyway. You may as well let him know to avoid future uncomfortable situations arising._

_I must not,_ she argued, _It would only lead to unnecessary awkwardness._

_But it may explain last night. He may already be thinking it. It would be best to let him know._

She took a deep breath. "By the way, Balthier…"

He paused at the door and looked round. "Yes?"

She couldn't do it. It just wasn't the right moment. But she'd started talking. It was too late to go back now. For a moment, they stood in silence, just staring at each other. Finally, Fran spoke again.

"I have repaired your shirts for you."

Balthier smiled. "Thanks Fran."

She returned the smile shyly and filled up the kettle in her hands. She felt him watch her for a moment longer, before he walked out, along with her chance to tell him everything.


	14. Implications

_**A/N:**__ So I was writing this chapter and had it all planned out, but then Balthier had to be awkward and difficult to write and ended up writing himself. So the ending's slightly different. I hope you enjoy it anyway._

_Also, I apologise if the viewpoint changes don't work very well. I thought I'd give this style a try, and hopefully it'll improve if I do it more. But if it doesn't work at all then let me know :)_

_Reviews are amazing, so remember to say anything you have to say. Praise, constructive criticism… it's all welcome._

**14. Implications**

_The Estersand_

_This is most undignified,_ Balthier thought with a scowl. The day had started out looking a little chilly, but by the time the outpost was in sight the sun was beating down on the two, causing him to sweat like a fountain and his head to throb with dehydration. Once at the outpost he'd removed his vest and cuffs, asking one of the wayfarers to look after them until he got back, and unbuttoned his shirt half way. He could not help but stare at Fran in wonder, stunned at how she, a creature born of the the cool, damp wood, managed not to sweat or even appear to be in slight discomfort. And how, _how_ did she walk in those heels on such uneven ground as sand?

"Let us stop for a rest," he announced, deciding he could take this no longer. He marched over to the cliff face and sat down in its shadow, pressing his back against the cool, shaded rock surface. Fran followed him and sat beside him on the sandy ground.

"We rested not ten minutes ago," she pointed out, "Should we keep pausing, our return will be late."

"We'll be fine," he insisted, taking a swig of water, "We're not stopping for long."

She eyed him curiously. "Then why stop at all?"

He tipped his head back and stared up at the cloudless blue sky, cursing the sun's rays for stabbing his parched skin.

"Fran… you don't have to endure the curse of sweaty shirts," he grumbled, "And being the leading man, I shouldn't have to either."

She probably would have rolled her eyes had it been more natural than to merely stare at him, as blank and cold as ever. He sighed in frustration. Clearly she just didn't understand. _I bet she doesn't have sand in her shoes and hair either,_ he thought bitterly, brushing grains of the desert from the auburn hair atop his head. He noticed the sand had managed to stain his previously pristine white shirt a colour closer to magnolia. He scowled at it, as if pulling faces would alter the situation.

"That expression does you little justice," Fran said, "Smiling treats you more kindly."

"Are you suggesting my dashing good looks are only apparent when I smile?" He asked.

He turned to watch her expression. To most, it would be impossible to read. But he could see the subtle twitch of an eyebrow, and he knew she was secretly despairing of his apparent arrogance. He simply chuckled.

"I don't see how you can possibly lecture me about not smiling and then failing to meet your own standards," He commented, "One might call that hypocrisy."

"I was only giving advice," she answered, quite calmly, "Should you prefer it, I will remain silent."

"Not at all, Fran," Balthier said, taking another gulp of water. "I was merely wondering what it was you were implying."

"Who says I must imply anything at all?"

She watched him, waiting for a reply. He gave an incomprehensible grunt, before saying, "Why must you insist on outsmarting me?"

She felt the corners of her lips twitch upwards into a half smile. "It would be unwise of you to expect less of me by now."

She wanted to ask him about it. But at the same time, she didn't want to bring it up again. They'd talked about it enough earlier. He had forgiven her and they'd moved on. But still, there were questions that hadn't been answered, and the curiosity, the not knowing, was gnawing at her mind…

_Do I truly wish to know the answer? Would it not be best to remain unknowing?_

She quickly glanced at him to see that he was staring at her intently with a half-smile playing on his lips. She titled her head in curiosity.

"You're thinking," he said in answer to her unspoken question, "I am curious as to what goes through that brilliant mind of yours."

"You flatter me too much," she replied.

He didn't look away. "You know that you may speak your mind with me," he said.

For a moment she considered telling him that yes, she did know and leaving it at that.

"Why did you tell me to stop?"

Very rapidly, his face changed from one of curious serenity to shock, possibly alarm. "Last night?"

She fixed her eyes on his and waited. Although he'd managed to cover up his initial shock and once again seem relaxed and confident as usual, she could tell he felt uncomfortable. The sound of his pounding heart and the smell of adrenaline gave him away.

"I find it somewhat curious that you should think on it as nothing less than trivial," he stated.

"And I that you should evade such questioning of it," she answered.

He was fidgeting again. "Evasion wasn't really my intention; I am simply curious as to what it is you're suggesting."

"I imply nothing. I am asking, and you are failing to answer."

He sighed. "You're far too smart for me, Fran."

"Thank you."

They sat in silence, Fran still looking at him. She knew he would crumble under her gaze eventually. _Eventually._

She waited. And so did he.

"You are yet to answer the question," Fran reminded him.

Balthier shrugged. "So I am." He stood up. "We should get going, else this sun will shrivel us both before we've even found this wretched mark." He held out a hand to her, but she kept her arms folded. He sighed again. "Fran, don't be stubborn."

"I shall be as stubborn as you are secretive," she answered defiantly. "You tell, and I shall follow you."

"Isn't this matter rather-"

He stopped mid-sentence. The look on her face explained to him quite clearly that he had already lost and he was wasting his energy. After staring at her a little longer, trying to find _something_ in her eyes that suggested she didn't really mean it, he gave up.

"Because you were doing it out of frustration," he answered, "And I only want you to kiss me because you _want_ to."

He couldn't read her expression as she continued to sit, staring at him.

"Satisfied?" He asked.

For a moment longer she gazed at him, before taking his still-outstretched hand and allowing him to help her to her feet.


	15. Reality

_**A/N:**__ I just found this, as well as chapters 16, 17 and 18… I guess I was going to get round to editing them and then forgot about them. So, almost a year later, here's an update. My apologies for my uselessness._

**15. Reality**

She wasn't sure how long they'd been flying, but if felt like forever.

He'd barely spoken a word.

She wanted to ask him what was troubling him, but he seemed far too deep in thought. She wasn't even sure if he knew where he was flying them. He simply stared out at the sky before him, eyes glazed over, mind in another world. She had never seen him looking quite so out of it, and seeing it now unnerved her. She wanted to just talk to him the way she normally did, but for some reason she could't think of anything to say.

Why? What was wrong?

The strained silence was torturous, almost unbearable, and the tension was swelling by the minute. She was his partner, his closest friend… why was he not saying what was on his mind? And why could she not find the words to comfort him?

Determinedly, she stared out at the skies in front of them, trying to remain focused; it would not do to be distracted by personal affairs. And yet she kept finding herself glancing over at him, remembering the incident earlier out on the Estersand.

_"I only want you to kiss me because you want to."_

It would have been so easy to tell him the truth; that she desired nothing more than to feel his arms holding her safe, accompanied by the loving touch of his lips on hers. But she was all too aware of the consequences. Should he not share her wishes, it could be the end of both the deep friendship and understanding they shared and the fantasy she forever played over in her heard; one where they _could_ be together, in which he loved her too. But should be return her feelings, it would only result in the pain and heartbreak that death inevitably brought.

Not for the first time, Fran silently wished that she had been born a Hume. Perhaps that way, she would not have had to abandon her family and home, for she'd have had no reason to, and they would support her dream to spread her wings and find freedom. Perhaps that way, she would never suffer the leering of filthy drunkards, and she'd be free to love at will…

Instinctively, she pushed those thoughts to the back of her mind and focused once more on the airship, the tension of the silence forever looming over her shoulder.

_"I only want you to kiss me because you want to."_

He could not focus on what he was doing. Every action was done implicitly as he gazed straight ahead of him, completely unseeing.

_Fran, that was your cue._

He should have realised from the start that he would never be good enough for her. But that hadn't stopped him dreaming. How could a man not dream of one with such extraordinary beauty and intelligence, even if she was roughly four times his age and not even the same species?

Every other girl he'd met was willing to play her part, some of them trying in vain to show they were capable of playing his leading lady. He'd assumed that by casting Fran as his leading lady, she would be just as submissive and jump at the chance. But she hadn't. Instead, she'd taken the script into her own hands and was rewriting it in a way that did not suit him. He was well and truly at her disposal, and she was free to do with him whatever she pleased.

_I always thought I played the perfect leading man. But along you come and prove that I am little more than an actor who doesn't know his lines._

He hadn't exactly planned the scene in his mind, but when it arose he'd hoped, almost _expected_, Fran to come out with the line he so desperately wanted to hear… _I did it because I wanted it. I think I might love you…_

She'd stared at him, and with that look she had stripped away his fantasy of ever being with her. The dream was over. He could no longer lull himself to sleep with comforting thoughts that, one day, she might just be there with him…

He realised that he'd put the Strahl into landing gear and was headed for Balfonheim Aerodrome. He didn't remember the flight from Rabanastre.

They landed in the same silence they had endured since they'd hunted their mark in the Estersand. He turned off the engine and allowed the unnatural quiet fill the air.

He heard Fran standing up and making for the door. But as she did, she paused, and then he felt her gently place a hand on his shoulder. Without really thinking, he raised his own hand to hold it there for a moment.

She didn't say anything. She didn't have to; he knew what she meant. _I care about you, and I am here for you whenever you need me_.

_But sometimes caring alone is not enough,_ was his unspoken response.

As if she could tell exactly what he was thinking, she withdrew her hand and continued out of the cockpit. He continued to stare in miserable silence straight ahead of him.


	16. Betrayal

**16. Betrayal**

_The next morning, aboard the Strahl_

The moment Fran woke up, she could tell that something was different, and she did not like it in the slightest.

It had been a rough night. She'd tried in vain to get Balthier to tell her what was bothering him, but as usual he'd talked in riddles, expertly avoiding every question she threw at him without even giving her the slightest hint of an answer. On top of all that, he'd still been incredibly sulky. Eventually her patience had worn thin, and she'd left him to his own devices, deciding it would be far better than getting slightly snappy at him and risk throwing him into an even fouler, less talkative mood.

A quick twitch of her nose detected a whole variety of smells that did not belong on the Strahl. The first was alcohol. Although this was not too unusual when Balthier had been drinking, it was somewhat stronger than normal. The second was quite possibly a mixture of peach and may blossom. It made Fran feel nauseous. But not as nauseous as the third smell: _sex_.

She swung her legs out of bed, even though she wanted nothing more than to go back to sleep and wake up to find she'd been dreaming. She couldn't quite describe her feelings at that precise moment, but they were making her throat feel tight and her heart pound in a sickening way. She made her way down the corridor, following her nose to the source of the smell.

_I am curious,_ she tried to convince herself, _I wish to see what she is like, nothing more._

She stopped to look in Balthier's room. Although that was where the smell was most concentrated, all she could see was the sky pirate snoring peacefully under his bed covers. She moved on, once again following her nose.

The kitchen door was ajar and the sweet, sickly smell was seeping out of it. Fran pushed it open a bit further and walked in.

A girl, probably no older than 18, was searching through the cupboards. To Fran's relief she was fully dressed. She whipped round as Fran entered, long brown hair flying like a whirlwind around her, blue eyes wide like a deer caught in headlights. Fran could not help but think that she was far too pale.

"Oh! I'm sorry, I didn't know anyone else was here!" She blurted apologetically.

Fran's face did not change. _So Balthier failed to mention me then_, she thought bitterly. Without answering the girl, she stalked towards the kettle.

"Uh… are you… um… Balthier's girlfriend?" The girl asked nervously.

For a moment, she considered telling her that yes, she was Balthier's girlfriend, and that she'd better run if she was planning on living. But she wasn't going to stoop that low; she valued her dignity far too much for that. Instead, she answered, "We're work partners."

She didn't like this girl very much, and she insisted that it was nothing to do with jealousy. _She is too young to be engaging in such activities with any man,_ she decided firmly, _Not to mention she is intruding on our airship. This scent will take hours to fade._

"So what do you do for him? Like, I didn't think sky pirates needed assistants. I thought having an extra person would make everything more difficult."

_Then you have much to learn,_ Fran answered in her head, deciding it sounded far too bitchy to say out loud. She set the kettle to boil.

"My assistance is necessary," she told the girl simply, opting to reveal little. After all, it was none of her business, and probably too complicated for her to get her pretty little head around.

She nodded. "You're real talkative aren't you?"

"I have my moments." _Now is not one of them._

"Do you have a problem with me?"

_Yes._ "Not at all."

That was when Balthier walked in, clad in nothing but boxers, his hair tousled and his eyes still bearing a look of weariness.

"Oh, morning Fran," he said with a yawn. "I see you met Cilla."

_Cilla? So you remembered her name._ She tried to pretend it didn't bother her.

Cilla scurried over to him and started whispering in his ear, as if by lowering her voice Fran would be unable to hear her.

"What's her problem? She keeps glaring at me and won't talk."

Balthier didn't bother to lower his voice. "Viera work in mysterious ways. I shouldn't be too bothered if I were you."

_Viera. Not 'Fran': viera._

"I can see my presence is not desired," she stated, looking directly at Balthier, "I shall speak with you later."

With that, she left the kitchen, trying to tune out of what they were saying as she left. But should couldn't help hearing Cilla telling Balthier, "Wow, you have to put up with her every day? That must take patience…"

She couldn't take it: the smell, her presence, Balthier's ignorance… and her own, burning feelings of anger and betrayal.

She bit back her hurt and fury and headed for the bridge, deciding that a walk through Balfonheim was the only solution.


	17. Emotional

**17. Emotional**

Where had Fran gone?

He stared blankly at her empty room. He'd been wanting to talk with her since she'd walked out; the look in her eyes had been as unreadable as ever, but there had been something burning in them that he'd only seen when he'd done something very, _very_ wrong. The thought of hurting her had been burning away at him in a way that made him feel uncomfortable, but the empty, choked feeling he was experiencing now was unbearable.

She couldn't have _gone_; most of her belongings were still here, including her bow, the formal black dress she'd been saving for a special occasion and her hairbrush. He picked it up gingerly, as though he might break it, and carefully pulled one of the long white hairs attached to it loose. He wound it through his fingers absent-mindedly, briefly allowing his imagination to escape to an alternate reality in which his hands were locked in Fran's long silky mane, her body pressed close to his… but he dismissed this fantasy almost immediately. She was not his, and instead of making her his, he kept driving her away.

With a sigh, he turned and left the room, deciding that there was only one cure for this until Fran returned and he could apologise: drown his woes and sorrows in a blissful haze of alcohol.

Fran had been sitting alone, cradled in the branches of a tree on the Cerobi Steppe for over an hour, but still her mind was far from at ease.

She could still not accept her feelings. So much hurt and betrayal… and for what?

She'd been trying so hard to suppress every last one of her feelings; feelings of anger, of hurt, of hatred… even of joy and love. She denied herself of the ability to feel in order to protect herself; to protect her dignity and her heart. But she wondered now whether it was really protecting or destroying herself.

It had already been proven that she could not hold her anger forever. She could push it down and deny it to herself for a long time, letting it gnaw away at her insides, but eventually the pressure would become too much to take, and like a volcano she'd explode, and the feelings would rip her apart. She wondered if the same would happen with her feelings towards Balthier; would they too become so overwhelming that she'd want to tear them out from beneath her skin? She could just see herself in front of him, on her knees, begging him to have her, even though nature and time forbid such a thing.

She was trembling, shuddering with anger at herself. She was furious that she had let herself become this way. It could not be natural to be so cold, and she hated it. No one could see how confused and insecure she was, and she never let them; even Balthier had no idea she was this neurotic inside.

She felt something warm and wet fall onto her arm. She stared at it, befuddled. It looked much like a rain drop, but it couldn't be… the air did not taste remotely humid. She lifted a hand to her face and realised that her cheek had a damp stripe leading from her eye to her jaw.

It was the first tear she'd cried in so long she couldn't remember.

Snapping back to reality, she stopped shuddering. Almost immediately, her neuroticism evaporated, leaving her clear-headed and calm. She'd been a fool to let her feelings get the better of her.

A numb bravery overcame her, and she realised that she had no choice but to face Balthier, even if that Cilla girl was still there. Deciding it was time to return to the Strahl, she slid out of the tree, landing perfectly on the meadow below, and started off back to Balfonheim.

She didn't think much as she made her way through the stony streets of the port. Instead she took in the scents and the surroundings, watching people go about their daily business, wondering what it was like to live a settled life. She'd always been more of an adventurer, never being able to stay in one place for very long. Why would she want to, when the rest of the world had so much to offer? Perhaps one day she'd grow weary of travelling and decide to buy a house and lead a regular life. If she was going to live anywhere, it would most likely be Balfonheim. Its character made it charming, and being a port, you could find many exotic foods and spices, giving it the most wonderful mixture of smells and tastes. She almost smiled to herself as she walked into the aerodrome and to the Strahl.

But when she got on board, it smelled wrong again. But this time, it was nothing to do with sickly sweet hume-girl fragrance; it was much more to do with rum. She stopped moving and frowned, checking the old clock on the wall of the bridge; it had barely gone noon. Balthier couldn't _possibly_ be getting drunk this early in the day.

She made her way to the source of the smell, following her nose until she reached the control room. Gingerly, almost frightened of what she might see, she pushed open the door.

Balthier was slumped on the floor, a half-empty bottle of ale in his hand. He looked up as Fran entered.

"Fran," he slurred, getting to his feet and stumbling across the room to her, almost falling over. He grabbed her right hand and attempted to grab her left, but missed and grabbed her elbow instead. "Fran, my love."

"…Balthier," she answered, somewhat warily. _I never realised it was possible to be so completely wasted._

He gazed at her, his eyes blazing with drunkenness and something that Fran could not quite put her finger on.

"Do you love me, Fran?"

She stared at him blankly, her heart racing once again. She pushed her thoughts away hastily.

"You have drunk far too much. You must rest."

She attempted to lower him to the floor, but he clung to her tightly.

"Please, Fran, I need you…"

Realising this wasn't going anywhere, she lowered herself down, forcing him onto the floor with her. He continued to cling to her desperately, as if he might die if he let go.

"You know that I'm in love with you, don't you, Fran?" He asked. She could smell the alcohol very strongly on his breath.

"I know that it is the alcohol that speaks," she answered.

He shook his head. "No, Fran, I'm Balthier. I speak only the truth to you. I could never tell you such a lie."

Why was her heart rate not slowing? Had she not told herself that she could face this now, that she was strong enough not to believe in these feelings?

"Tell me you love me, Fran, please." He was begging her now. "I need you… I love you… I…"

He trailed off, his head falling against her shoulder, and began snoring, his mouth wide open. Fran shook her head slightly in disapproval, even though she was smiling ever so slightly to herself. This smile changed quickly to a frown as he began to drool. Gently, she pushed his jaw shut and wiped the saliva from her skin.

_Men_, she thought as she moved her hand up to stroke Balthier's soft coppery hair.


	18. Embrace

**_A/N:_**_ I'm not sure whether to leave this story here or whether it needs another chapter. Feedback would be much appreciated, as usual :)_

**18. Embrace**

Even though her hair was soft and tangle-free, she continued to brush it absent-mindedly while her mind wandered in circles. The past couple of days had been a bit of a roller coaster, all starting with her losing her temper in the Sandsea. Before then, she'd known her mind; she couldn't possibly _have_ Balthier, therefore she couldn't possibly _want_ him. Now her mind was in turmoil, playing out a wide variety of scenarios, ranging from fairly improbable to completely impossible, like her meeting a wizard that could turn her into a hume, meaning she and Balthier could live happily ever after. She shook the thought from her head, only for another, almost equally as impossible one to spring up.

Because now she was so unsure. Now she knew that she wanted nothing more than to spend the little time they had together as the only girl he'd wake up to in the mornings, the one he'd dream about and cherish until the end. She knew that she shouldn't want him, and she knew that being with him would cause inevitable heartbreak, but did that mean she _couldn't_ be with him at all?

While she was mulling this over, the door opened. She glanced in the mirror to see it was Balthier. His eyes were blood-shot, and he looked an unhealthy grey colour. Then she hastily returned to brushing her hair.

"You have awoken," she stated simply. Why was it so hard to talk to him all of a sudden?

"Apparently so," he answered, his tone weary. "I would rather have preferred it had I not. My head is not treating me kindly."

"It was not wise of you to drink so heavily so early," she pointed out, still pulling the brush through her hair.

Balthier came up behind her and gently grabbed her wrist. "Stop doing that, else you'll pull it all out," he said calmly.

She gazed at his reflection in the mirror again. Even though he looked ill and worn-out, the sight of him still made her heart skip a beat. There was something about his tousled hair and the bleary look in his eyes that made him even more handsome than normal. He carefully took the hairbrush from her hand and set it down on the dressing table, before placing his hands on her shoulders. For a moment they just gazed at each other's reflections.

"We have much to discuss," Fran announced.

He seemed to freeze for a second, his fingers going rigid against her soft skin.

"Yes… I suppose we do," he finally answered, quickly removing his hands from her shoulders.

"You remember what it was you said before passing out on me?"

He sighed, bringing up a hand to rub his temples. "I remember few of the finer details, but I believe I can recall overall picture," he answered. Then he laughed. "Quite a mess I've got myself into here, isn't it?"

"Would you care to clarify how much of it was meant?"

He dropped his hand to his side again with another sigh. "You know I meant every word," he said softly, gazing at the floor.

It felt like she was so light she could fly. Her heart rate soared, but she could barely feel it as a smile crept onto her face. It suddenly felt as if the world was the most wonderful place to be.

And now, she realised what she wanted to happen next, and that nothing in the world, not even the thought of a century of heartache, was getting in her way.

She stood up and walked over to Balthier. He gave her a look that was a mixture of shock and sorrow. And then she wrapped her arms around him and embraced him.

No words were needed now. They stood with their arms around each other in complete silence while the world around them seemed to dissolve. All they could hear was each other's steady heartbeat and gentle breaths. At that moment, it felt as if nothing would ever be wrong again. Nothing else in the whole of Ivalice mattered.

They moved back slightly, their hands finding each other and twining together. They gazed at each other in a knowing disbelief, before slowly tilting their heads and moving closer, closer together, until their lips touched. It was a lot softer and more tender than their first kiss, and although it only lasted a few seconds, it left Fran feeling dizzy and weak.

"I've been waiting some time to do that," Balthier whispered, caressing her cheek.

He pressed his lips against hers again, sending her more shivers down her spine.

"So if I asked you to be my leading lady… would you accept?"

That morning, Fran would have had to consider it for a while, weighing out all the possibilities in her head, going over every last detail before coming to a decision. But now she didn't have to think about. "Of course," she answered.

Balthier's smile widened. "I'm pleased to hear it."

He kissed her again, before sliding his arms around her and tugging her close to him. She returned the gesture.

They stood in silence, locked in each other's embrace once more.


End file.
